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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30102291">Pleasant Boy</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ez_cookie/pseuds/ez_cookie'>ez_cookie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Persona 5, Persona Series</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, Psychological Horror, akira is pining, and then they go 'fuck go back', goro akechi is just very confused, goro gets actualized during the maruki infiltration au, the phantom thieves dont like sasskechi then he starts being nice</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 23:13:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,061</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30102291</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ez_cookie/pseuds/ez_cookie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>During what should have been a routine day of infiltration, Crow gets snatched away by Maruki and returns as a shell of his former self. He's all polite smiles, wit, and charm, and Akira wants it undone as soon as possible.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>291</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This idea came to me and wouldn't leave my head. Y'all watched the Bad End? Was anyone else disturbed to hear Goro Akechi sounding so /genuinely/ nice in the end? It was somehow so different than the detective prince voice and it haunts me, honestly.</p><p>Bravo, Robbie.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Akira wouldn’t ever say he </span>
  <em>
    <span>disliked </span>
  </em>
  <span>having Akechi on the team. He was terrifyingly powerful and deadly in battle, which was definitely a good thing, considering how brutal the shadows that roamed the shiny, sterile halls of Maruki’s palace were. Despite having far more experience than Akira, Akechi followed orders and stayed back in the reserves when he was told to. He still remembered how to Baton Pass, how to rush in for a follow-up, and just generally fit like a well-oiled cog in the machine that was the Phantom Thieves of Hearts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akira could do without having to wonder if Akechi was going to stab someone just for his own amusement, though. There was a great amount of tension between him and the other thieves –– how could there not be? Akira had no delusions that their reluctant team-up would mean the others all accepted Akechi and that he would suddenly want any of them in his life. But even though he fought well with them, it would be clear to any observer that he was not really a part of the team. When he wasn’t keeping to himself, he was making snide remarks or outright insulting anyone in his general vicinity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, yeah. The real Goro Akechi was definitely an acquired taste.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t like Akira had ever fully bought his act, though. He had always had a feeling that Akechi was just like him –– putting up a front to appeal to other people, or maybe to protect his real face. Something about his polite smiles always reeked of plasticity. Something was hidden by the pristine, blinding glow of the Detective Prince, and it turned out that something was a rude, aggressive, but overall just deeply lonely and abused teenager. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akira had had about two weeks in this strange reality to get used to him, and he still didn’t know how to feel about Akechi’s complete personality overhaul. It wasn’t that he hated this Akechi. In fact, Akira was glad that Akechi seemed to at least feel liberated by not having to don his polite mask anymore. That was good. It was, objectively, a good thing. And yet… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Die, you piece of shit!” Akechi screamed, slicing a large shadow in half with his sword. Akira saw Sumire flinch where she was standing as she watched him continue slicing into the long-since-dead remains of the shadow, laughing uncontrollably. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akechi looked thoroughly beat, as was to be expected. Akira found he had to keep an eye on Crow’s health basically… all the time. He fought recklessly, using devastatingly strong physical attacks that looked like they cost a dangerous amount of health. If Akira wasn’t careful, Akechi might drop like a sack of bricks, laughing the whole way down. It was worse once Akechi was nearly out of magic, as Akechi had switched to almost exclusively using his sword and claws, paying no attention to the amount of damage he took. Akira wished he could pull Akechi aside and try to convince him to maybe at least </span>
  <em>
    <span>pretend </span>
  </em>
  <span>he had basic self-preservation instincts or to stop using that goddamn effect that made him go insane. Every time Akechi cast it, Akira got a little scared that he might not come down from his rampage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite this, Akira had kept Akechi on the front lines throughout the whole infiltration, switching out the others when they ran out of energy. They still had a bit of time before Maruki’s deadline, but Akira wasn’t going to take any chances when all of reality was at stake. He may have been tempted to give his friends the happiness they wished for before, but seeing what Maruki did to Sumire… messing with her mind just to justify his own methods… it was sickening. Maybe that was why he kept Akechi by his side. Watching him tear Maruki’s paradise to shreds was rather satisfying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’s everyone feeling?” Akira asked as the backup team rushed forward to huddle with him, Akechi, Sumire, and Ann. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m beat…” Ryuji moaned. “How effing huge is this place?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huge,” Futaba said shortly. “We’ve been going all day and we’re only about halfway through, as far as I can tell.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are we calling it a day, then?” Ann asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think that’d be best,” Haru said. “I’m quite fatigued myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank goodness,” Yusuke commented. “I am positively famished. Joker, do you think Boss would mind terribly if we indulged in his magnificent curry to recuperate?”</span>
</p><p><span>“Are you planning on paying for it?” Futaba asked dryly. “You’re at risk of eating me</span> <span>out of house and home, Inari.”</span></p><p>
  <span>“I agree. Let’s go home for the day,” Makoto said. “As long as we secure the route before February 3rd, we’ll be fine. We’ve got a good pace going, and still a good bit of time left.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“True,” Akechi said. “Then again, Maruki has said he’s a man of his word. Assuming he was telling the truth, he’ll be willing to face us on the designated day whether we send a calling card or not. If we can’t steal his treasure, we can simply kill him instead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, Akechi would talk about murder being a solution with all the severity of suggesting tofu as an alternative to meat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We aren’t killers,” Haru said firmly. “And as long as you’re allied with us, you won’t be one either.” A couple of other thieves nodded in agreement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Even if all of reality is at stake?” Akechi said. “My, my, Okumura. You know, your father was a vile man. How did you all put it on your little card? ‘A great sinner of greed’, if I recall. I never thought it hereditary, but here you are, selfishly clinging onto your morals, not caring if you’re dooming the rest of the world to do so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s enough!” Makoto said. “Don’t talk to her about her father. You’re sick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I’m aware,” Akechi said, sounding absolutely delighted at the argument he was sowing. “So, you value human life, do you? Nothing wrong with that. But what would you righteous lot do in a situation where someone will die either way?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dr. Maruki isn’t killing people,” Sumire said shakily. “He’s just… misguided. I think he really does just want to make people happy, Akechi-senpai.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m surprised you of all people decided to come to his defense,” Akechi said. “Tell me something. If Maruki had his way, and we were all chained to his reality, what would happen to Sumire Yoshizawa?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sumire stiffened, shaking a little in her heeled boots.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sumire Yoshizawa would be dead,” Akechi said. “Gone, and forgotten by everyone. And Kasumi Yoshizawa wouldn’t be alive either. All that would be left is a shallow, performing husk. A fate far worse than death, in my opinion. You’d rather let that happen than get a little blood on your hands?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop trivializing the matter,” Yusuke said harshly. “Maruki can be reasoned with. Killing him isn’t an option. We won’t let him win, but we also will never stoop to your level in order to save our world.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only you all would value the life of a madman so greatly that you’d damn the world to redeem him,” Akechi spat. “You’re all naive. You watch a few memories on those </span>
  <em>
    <span>charming </span>
  </em>
  <span>little tapes, and suddenly it’s ‘boo hoo, Maruki. He only wants the best for us.’” Akechi’s eyes cut right into Akira as he continued. “Such a tragic figure. With good intentions like his, how could it be that he’s ended up in hell, at the end of a path he set brick by brick? I’ll tell you all something. I don’t care how much he smiles, I don’t care how much he’s suffered, and I don’t care for his bullshit lies that he dares to call happiness. I will </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>accept this reality.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akira swallowed as his eyes darted around and saw everyone else frozen in stunned silence. Akechi just laughed dryly to himself as he stopped waiting for a retort he realized he wouldn’t be getting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And that’s just as well,” Akechi said. “A perfect reality will never accept me either.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, as if on cue, all the lights in the palace clicked off, and the group was shrouded in darkness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hang on!” Futaba said. “I’ll get the lights back on in a jiffy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The telltale sounds of Futaba disappearing up into her Persona and typing away at her keyboard were the only sounds to accompany the group’s rough breathing. Akira hoped Makoto was okay. Though she tried and consistently failed to hide it, she was terrified of the dark. Futaba did work quickly though. Hopefully, it wouldn’t become a concern. At the very least, Akira was glad that the lights shutting off had stopped the argument, especially since he found himself understanding the point Akechi was making and wondering what his friends would really choose if their choice came down to that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they waited in the dark, Akira could feel the group nudging a bit closer together. There hadn’t been any shadows nearby when the lights flickered off, but Akira had found in his time as a Phantom Thief that Murphy’s Law was as intrinsic to the Metaverse as the laws of gravity were to the real world. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Joker,” Akechi hissed out. His voice, though hushed, was dripping with disdain. “Let go of my hand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you talking about?” Akira whispered back. “I’m not holding your hand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At that moment, Futaba let out a whoop of victory as the lights in the palace flickered back on, and it was immediately apparent what Akechi had been feeling. Those strange tentacles Maruki commanded had slunk into the hallway silently from somewhere beyond. There was one circling around Akechi’s ankle, and another one, the one he’d presumably felt in the dark, coiling around his left hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fucking––” Akechi bit out before he decided to forgo words in favor of backing up from the group and drawing his sword, slicing frantically at the tentacle grasping onto his leg. It took a few slashes to break through it, but eventually, it split, the section wrapped around Akechi’s leg shriveling and falling to the reflective floor of the palace as Akechi continued to struggle against the one grasping his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akechi shifted his stance to slice the second tentacle, but before he could get a hit on it, it yanked him off his feet, lifting him up by his limb and slamming him back down onto the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Akechi-senpai!” Sumire cried. He could see her rummaging through her pockets for items, eyeing the tentacle with fear like she was debating rushing in to help. Akira held up a hand to keep anyone from rushing forward. They all were tired and badly hurt. Akechi would be fine on his own, and if any of them rushed in to help, he would definitely consider the fact that they were concerned for his wellbeing to be an insult to his ability as a fighter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then, Akechi was slammed into the floor a few more times, and Akira began to consider damning his own safety entirely and disregarding what Akechi might think, just so long as that thing left him the hell alone. However, before he could act, Akira saw the familiar crimson glow of Akechi’s self-imposed psychotic break and watched as Akechi’s squirms grew sharp and savage. He dropped the sword entirely, and it hit the ground with a clatter as he ripped into the tentacle with relentless swipes of his claws, paying no mind to how it slammed him about as it struggled to keep its hold on him even as it was torn into ribbons. Finally, Akechi dropped out of its grip, hitting the floor, thankfully, on his feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akechi heaved out heavy, rough breaths, his collapsed posture and bared claws making him look more like a deformed, aggressive beast than a teenage boy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re going to have to do better than that!” Akechi roared. He straightened up a bit, everything about his stance indicating that he was ready to pounce, shred, and kill. “Do you hear me, Maruki?” Akechi called. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Evidently, Maruki had heard him, and before Akira could rush in to try to get Akechi to retreat with them, twice as many tentacles came slithering in, quick as slithering snakes, overtaking Akechi and lifting him off the ground once more. Akechi hissed and snarled, but with each thrash, the tentacles tightened their grip on him, creeping up his legs like vines, then forcefully yanking off his helmet and crushing it effortlessly into pieces. It looked like Akechi was about to cry out, but before he could, yet another tentacle wrapped around his head to gag him, squeezing his head so hard Akira thought it might burst. Akechi choked, still clawing helplessly at his restraints.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It all happened so fast, and in the few seconds it took Akira to decide to take his knife in hand and cut him out at all costs, the tentacles zipped off, taking Akechi with them. Akechi managed to catch the floor with his gauntlets the last few seconds before he was out of sight, the sharp claws leaving harsh indents in the spotless floor of Maruki’s palace. But it was useless. In mere seconds, Akechi was gone, carried off down a side hallway, like he’d never been by their side in the first place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akira started sprinting after. He didn’t even think about it. He had to catch up, had to get Akechi out of there. He was harshly pulled back mid-stride and for a second, he believed he was about to be carried away by Maruki too. But when he turned to face his attacker, it was just Makoto, who had caught his arm and was holding him back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can’t go back in,” Makoto said. “We need to rest. All of us are completely drained.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not leaving him!” Akira snapped. “Never again! We left him for </span>
  <em>
    <span>dead</span>
  </em>
  <span> in Shido’s palace, even after promising him that he could fight alongside us, and you all just want to abandon him again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We don’t have a choice,” Makoto said. At least she had the sense to look like she felt bad, but Akira suspected that was because she’d made </span>
  <em>
    <span>him </span>
  </em>
  <span>upset, and not out of any real regard for Akechi’s well-being. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then I’m going back in alone,” Akira said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No way!” Futaba said. “The shadows are way too strong in there. That’s suicide!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maruki won’t harm him, Kurusu-senpai,” Sumire said quietly. “He didn’t hurt me when you and Akechi-senpai had to leave me in here. He’ll rest up, and he… well, he honestly might be able to get himself out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akira knew what she was saying made some sense. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew </span>
  </em>
  <span>that. But he also couldn’t shake the images of Akechi fighting for his life, being torn apart, left to rot in the cognitive world, entirely alone, just as he’d been all his life. After the close call on Shido’s ship, Akira would do anything to avoid that. How was he supposed to explain to the rest of them just how much Akechi </span>
  <em>
    <span>mattered? </span>
  </em>
  <span>If only he hadn’t been acting like such an asshole before he was carried off, maybe the others would be a lot more willing to risk themselves for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then again, Akechi would certainly be unhappy with him if he learned that no one would be around to stop Maruki because they’d all gotten killed going after him while on their very last legs. He could picture the way Akechi would scowl at him and call him a sentimental fool. Or probably something a lot meaner, but Akira’s brain wasn’t currently supplying him anything appropriately harsh but also, inexplicably, endearing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akira really, really needed Akechi to be okay. But there was nothing to do but wait and search for him in the morning. He just nodded, meeting Makoto’s eyes to really sell that he was doing fine. Everyone was tense as they walked quietly back to the door of the palace, and Akira couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder as he left, really hoping he was imagining the sounds of yells echoing through the empty shining hallways. </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Akira didn’t remember the walk back to Leblanc. He’d been here, in these tired, worn old booths with his dearest friends so many times before, to celebrate, to plan, and to grieve. Sumire was a new addition, but she was so quiet that she didn’t have much of a presence in the cafe. Some of the thieves were chattering about nothing, their voices hushed in some mockery of respect for Akira’s feelings. He caught none of it. He just stood at the counter, staring at the booth seat directly in front of him and hated himself over and over for leaving Akechi behind. It felt wrong to even be in Leblanc without him. Though it wasn’t Akechi’s home, and all they’d shared there –– the coffee, the chess games, the thrilling conversation –– was all just fake, for some reason or another, it felt like a place Akechi belonged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d felt this way when Akechi had died, or rather, was presumed dead. He’d come home to the empty coffee shop alone, had brewed Akechi’s preferred blend, and had just sat with it at the counter, watching it like he was keeping a vigil, not heading up to bed until the drink was cold and all his tears had dried. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The murmurs of the thieves in the cafe reminded him of that chat that night. Polite acknowledgments of Akechi’s fate. The bare minimum amount of regret. Then nothing after that. A heavy blanket of dread covered the cafe like a fog, and eventually, even the grating chatter ceased, and they all just sat in silence. It was ridiculous, Akira thought. This was ridiculous. Maybe he wasn’t even dead. Maybe he had broken free and had followed them right out of the palace, not even bothering to let them all know he was fine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thick dismal air was finally broken by the sound of the shop bell ringing as the door opened. Akira looked toward the source of the noise and was hit by a flood of relief. Akechi was there, and he was unharmed. In fact, he didn’t even look that upset that he’d been abandoned, though Akira supposed he could be overestimating how much he cared about what the rest of them did one way or the other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Akechi!” Ann said, the first to stand up and dare to greet him. “You’re okay!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You look fine,” Futaba said flatly, immediately looking back at her laptop screen. “Cool.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good to see you,” Makoto said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m… glad that you’re okay,” Haru said. She wouldn’t make eye-contact with Akechi, but Akira appreciated her words regardless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you think I wasn’t?” Akechi asked. It wasn’t unusual for Akechi to brush off concerns for his well-being with an assertion that he was strong or smart or in some other way talented enough to overcome anything, even his own suspected death. (Akira was still puzzling that one out.) But his tone was all wrong. Akira glanced around quickly, wondering if anyone else had noticed, or if he was just imagining things. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We were just worried, Akechi-senpai,” Sumire said quietly. “We care about you, and um… please don’t get mad!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why would I be mad?” Akechi asked. “It’s nice to know that you care.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There it was again. Everything about his tone of voice was wrong. It almost </span>
  <em>
    <span>almost </span>
  </em>
  <span>sounded like the way he’d speak in interviews, but even then, there was always a sense of something underneath, something venomous and sinister lying beneath layers of makeup and pleasantries. There was no depth to his tone now. The whole way he was carrying himself was different too, Akira noticed. Gone was Akechi’s usual restrictive posture, replaced by a demeanor that was still formal, but was softer. Almost warmer. It should have felt fake, but it didn’t, and that was the truly horrifying thing, wasn’t it? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Goro Akechi was acting </span>
  <em>
    <span>pleasant.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“What…” Akira started. The word practically fell out of his mouth of its own volition. He had to shake himself to start over properly when he noticed Akechi’s large doe eyes settle on him, patiently waiting for him to speak his mind. “What did Maruki </span>
  <em>
    <span>do </span>
  </em>
  <span>to you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akechi blinked, but no recognition sparked on his face whatsoever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maruki?” he asked, tilting his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akira watched, entranced, as Akechi fiddled with a strand of his hair briefly before guiding it back over his shoulder. Akechi didn’t fidget, to the point where it was unnerving how still he could be, even in places he should have been at ease. It looked so terribly wrong that Akira wanted to slap the sense back into him, much like Akechi had threatened to do to him when they’d first teamed up in Maruki’s strange reality.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The hell?” Ryuji asked. “Maruki! The doctor guy? With the effing tentacles?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He doesn’t remember?” Morgana said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Strangely enough, Akechi didn’t seem to take any notice of what Morgana said. Was Maruki manipulating Akechi’s perceptions? Had that </span>
  <em>
    <span>bastard </span>
  </em>
  <span>with a god complex gotten his hands on Akechi and… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He took you,” Akira said shakily. “Back in the palace… and we just left you there…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a bit embarrassing to admit, as a detective,” Akechi said with a sheepish smile, “but I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about, Kurusu-kun. Now could I trouble you for some coffee?”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>please leave a comment if you liked this! This will probably be about 4 chapters long, so let me know how I'm doing! i really appreciate any feedback. love yall!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Akira scrubbed the counter furiously in the same place, hoping it looked like he was working at a stain. He needed an excuse to keep his head down and </span>
  <em>
    <span>think</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He couldn’t think if he was staring at the Phantom Thieves, who were sitting stiffly in the booths, all of them, even Ryuji, uncharacteristically quiet. And he absolutely refused to risk meeting Akechi’s eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe a small part of Akira was hoping that Akechi would notice him obviously faking the menial task to avoid talking to him. There was no way he hadn’t caught on to that. No matter what Maruki had done to him, this was still the dangerously sharp-minded teenage detective Goro Akechi in front of him. Wasn’t it? </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wasn’t it?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>After a few minutes, Haru stood up and quietly excused herself without much explanation –– not that it was really needed. The effect on the rest of the thieves was instantaneous, and even though they remained quiet, most of them took to eyeing the door, wondering when their ideal windows would come to escape, and most likely, regroup to discuss what exactly they were even </span>
  <em>
    <span>dealing </span>
  </em>
  <span>with. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akechi was sitting in his usual spot like it was still summer and nothing had changed at all. Akira had prepared him his usual blend, which he seemed to enjoy as much as he always had, though, interestingly enough, Akira noticed that he openly asked for sugar and cream in it rather than adding it when he thought no one was paying attention to him. Akira smiled a bit to himself as he kept scrubbing at the stain on the counter that didn’t exist. That was so Akechi, trying so hard to convince himself and the other Thieves that he was entirely heartless that he pretended he didn’t have a sweet tooth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe Akira was just trying to find riddles where they weren’t, trying to find Akechi’s true face when he had already found it in Shido’s palace. Akechi would probably sneer at him and correctly label him a fool for attempting to consolidate Akechi’s kind facade and his real, raw anger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Forgive me if I’m making assumptions,” Akechi said suddenly. He turned around in his seat to address the others. Akira flinched. He couldn’t stomach Akechi’s voice sounding like that –– so thin and pretty and </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“But have I done something to offend?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was impossible for the already-silent cafe to grow any quieter, but regardless, the very air lingering in the building seemed to escape out the nearest cracks as the question was uttered. Eyes flickered all around the room as the thieves silently played hot potato with the responsibility of speaking up. Luckily, before long, Ryuji took it upon himself to say something, which would have been a relief if Akira wasn’t terrified to find out what he might say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re acting effing weird, dude,” Ryuji said, narrowing his eyes. “It’s freaky.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, Akira supposed that was better than “Haru left because you murdered her father”. Still, the answer seemed to startle Akechi, who set down his coffee and shifted his posture awkwardly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Am I?” Akechi asked. “I… can’t say I know what you mean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you for real?” Ryuji asked bluntly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sakamoto-kun, I really don’t ––”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ryuji, would you shut it?” Ann hissed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-I’m going to go check on Haru,” Makoto announced. Then she stood up far too quickly and exited the cafe. Akira couldn’t help but cringe as the door slammed. This was a disaster. They were all clueless and scrambling for footing. Akechi had ambushed them, but unlike a quick and lethal ambush in the metaverse, this felt more like a pool of sweet molasses, slow, impossible to escape, and seemingly innocuous. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If there was one thing Akira knew about this sort of trap, (a topic he had researched after Futaba’s hazard-filled palace), it was that panicking and making sudden movements would only ensure their demise. To escape quicksand, one had to move slowly and deliberately. He had to assess the situation first, the situation being, well, Akechi. Cornering him didn’t feel fair, and it definitely wouldn’t solve anything. Akira would have to take initiative as the leader and talk to Akechi on his own. That seemed like the wisest way of going about things, especially since he knew Akechi the best out of all of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thought he did, at least. Or maybe that was just what he liked to think. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s getting sort of late, isn’t it?” Akira said. He finally stopped scrubbing at the counter, where he half-expected to see a stain he had entirely made up sitting stubbornly underneath his rag. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, finally got that stain, I see,” Akechi murmured. Akira’s eyes flickered up, finally getting his first really good look at Akechi up close since he’d entered. Strangely enough, he was smiling a little at Akira, something foreign in his eyes. Akira could feel his brain frying with embarrassment. Of course, Akechi had noticed his fake scrubbing. It was almost comforting, in a weird way, to hear any sort of banter from him, though. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You all should get home before the trains stop running,” Akira continued. He slipped into the confident tone he used as Joker, if only to ensure that his voice wouldn’t crack due to his lingering shame. “If you don’t mind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kicked out of my own home,” Futaba sighed. “How cruel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t live here,” Akira said. “I do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Someone’s comfortable,” Futaba cracked back. She stretched and packed up her laptop, gesturing to the others to get a move on. Akira thanked her silently for understanding telepathically that he wanted to interrogate this weirdly polite Akechi on his own. He supposed if there was one thing she understood, it was the need to clear out a space of people for comfort or convenience. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was hoping to stay for curry…” Yusuke lamented.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, you heard the man,” said Ryuji. “But hey, maybe we can go for beef bowl together tomorrow.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excellent,” Yusuke said. “Let us plan to do that. Thank you for your hospitality, Akira.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>coffee shop,” Futaba said as she passed. “He’s a freeloader.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, Akira!” Ann chirped. Her acting truly was abysmal. It was clear she was relieved to be escaping the cafe. “This was great.” She practically bolted to the door, followed by Yusuke and Ryuji. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Sumire,” Futaba said. “You should come over for a bit before you leave. Akira said that your phone is a mess, and repairman Futaba wants to take a look!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh?” Sumire asked. “O-oh, that’s… nice of you, Futaba-senpai… but I was sort of hoping to talk to––”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, it’s crying out for help! I can hear it all the way from here!” Futaba said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay…” Sumire said. “I guess you can take a look.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Futaba all but dragged Sumire out, and suddenly, all the booths were empty and Akira was suddenly hit with the realization that he would have to </span>
  <em>
    <span>talk</span>
  </em>
  <span> to Akechi. Alone. That was his own plan, of course, but that didn’t mean he was fully on board with the idea. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Akechi,” Morgana said. “Do you… remember anything that happened earlier?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I won’t impose any longer,” Akechi said, standing up with a tight grin. “I… can’t say I understand what was wrong with everyone today, though. Is there any chance you could shed some light on the matter before I leave?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s…” Akira started. “Well, I’ll try. Sit down a sec at the booth with me? I kind of wanted to talk to you alone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akechi stopped in his tracks, mouth growing tight. Akira couldn’t help but notice that he looked reminiscent of a deer in the headlights –– a far, far cry from the always prepared, always </span>
  <em>
    <span>on guard</span>
  </em>
  <span> Akechi that he’d come to know. Akira looked over at Morgana, but the cat was just glowering at Akechi, and probably wasn’t thinking too deeply about every little expression he was making. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right,” Akechi said quietly. He picked up his attaché case and slipped into a booth, tapping his fingers idly on the table. Yet another nervous tick Akira had never seen before. Did Akechi ever let himself exist comfortably? Had he conditioned everything he deemed imperfect out of himself, even to that point? Akira silently undid his apron, stepping out from behind the counter and crossing the cafe floor to sit opposite Akechi.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Morgana,” Akira said. “Go stay with Futaba for the night, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh?” Morgana shouted. “But-but Joker!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now,” Akira said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Morgana pouted, but complied, jumping down off the counter and snaking out of a cracked window, muttering under his breath things Akira didn’t care to hear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your cat is… quite well-trained,” Akechi said awkwardly. “How did you manage that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t understand him, then,” Akira concluded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The confounded look Akechi shot him was answer enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To think Sakamoto implied that I was the one acting strangely…” Akechi sighed. “But the tension in here was quite hard for me to ignore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Akira said lamely. “Sorry about that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was that you were saying earlier?” Akechi asked. “You asked me what someone named… Maruki, was it? You asked me what he ‘did’ to me. What did you mean by that, Kurusu?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By all accounts, Akechi looked like he was genuinely asking. Akira let out a long puff of air. Where did he even start? He’d have to work his way up to that one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can call me Akira, you know,” he blurted without thinking. “You’ve called me by my first name before; there’s no need for formality.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have I?” Akechi asked. His nose scrunched up a little as he thought, a small thing that hadn’t changed. Akira was grateful for that, at the very least. That was one tic no version of Akechi could erase. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Akira said. “I’d prefer it, honestly. All my friends call me Akira.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see,” Akechi said. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tap tap tap. Tap tap tap. </span>
  </em>
  <span>His fingers kept a light steady beat on the table. Then, he must have noticed Akira staring, as he suddenly brought them to a halt. “Why don’t you call me by my first name?” Akechi asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I ––” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akira felt like he had already lost the reins of the conversation before it had begun. Where was this coming from? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… didn’t know you wanted me to,” Akira said honestly. “Uh. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Do </span>
  </em>
  <span>you want me to?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Akechi answered, very quickly. Then, he looked down at the table, his hands disappearing into his lap. “... I would like that. I’m sorry if it seems I’m making a big deal out of this, but…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s cool,” Akira said, trying to sound nonchalant to force out the weird energy in the room. “I can call you ‘Goro’ if that’s what you want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akechi… Goro, rather, Akira supposed, nodded to himself, face still scrunched in thought. Akira was about to make an effort to get the conversation, interrogation, or whatever back on track when Goro spoke again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No one calls me ‘Goro’,” Goro said quickly. “Not since… my mother died. Since then, I haven’t gotten familiar enough with anyone to––”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Woah, woah,” Akira said, holding up his hands. Goro's mouth hinged shut, his posture crumpling a little. That couldn’t be true, right? Who was he kidding, there was absolutely no way that wasn’t true, considering what he already knew about Goro’s past. But to hear Goro volunteer that information so readily was… disturbing. There was no way that oversharing was consensual and Akira wanted to put a stop to it then and there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Goro said. “I…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, don’t apologize, it’s…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>God. Akira had no idea how to talk to him. It wasn’t like Goro hadn’t ever opened up to him before when they were friends. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Friends? Rivals? Two people fated by a god to destroy each other who just happened to play the occasional game of darts together?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Akira remembered when Goro had first told him about his mother when they went to the bathhouse together. Looking back, Akira had a hard time puzzling out his motivation for doing that, if he was just toying with Akira the whole time. Was he just pulling back the curtain a little to create the illusion of true connection? Risking that Akira would discover the root of everything, his hatred of the vile man who was his father only by blood, just so Akira would believe a little bit more in their farce of a friendship?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If that was Goro’s goal, it had worked. Here Akira still was, feeling for him, wanting him to be happy, even though if Goro was himself right now, he wouldn’t want to even look at Akira, much less sit down and have a conversation with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akira shook himself. Regardless of how Goro felt about him, what they’d shared had been real to Akira, at least a little, even if that meant he was kidding himself. He wasn’t ready to let go of the friend he thought he had, and that meant he had to rescue him from Maruki’s brainwashing at all costs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your mother…” Akira started. “She was killed, wasn’t she?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She killed herself,” Goro answered clinically. “It was a long time ago. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, though. I see cases similar to hers all the time in files at the precinct. Low income, sex worker, single mom… she checked a lot of boxes. Some people might look at a person like that and call it an inevitability.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akira's own tongue tasted bitter in his mouth. That wasn’t right. It sounded like Goro’s very thoughts being rewritten in real-time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doesn’t it make you mad?” Akira asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At who?” Goro asked with a laugh that wasn’t even a little sarcastic. “Life is hard, but I turned out okay, in the end, I hope. That’s all I could really ask for. I think she’d be proud of me, too. Solving cases makes me feel like something of a hero, sometimes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This wasn’t Goro. He had known that since he walked out, but it was all the more obvious now. What he was sitting across from was a fake, cheap imitation, but he was also </span>
  <em>
    <span>real, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and he was the only version of Goro that Akira had.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Unless, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Akira thought with rising horror. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Unless this isn’t him at all, and it’s just one of Maruki’s creations like Wakaba Isshiki or Okumura. Maybe the real Goro is lying dead on the floor of Maruki’s palace, and I didn’t go after him. I didn’t leap forward in time and he’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead ––</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Akira!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Goro’s hand was covering his own, his thumb carefully stroking Akira’s knuckles. Akira was snapped out of his thoughts at the unfamiliar touch and saw ruby eyes fixed on him, leaking concern. Akira had to dig deeper. Goro had to be in there somewhere. He just had to make him remember.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about… your father?” Akira asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Goro withdrew his hand from Akira’s, seemingly satisfied that Akira wasn’t going to get lost in his own thoughts again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know anything about him,” Goro said with a shrug. “So, there’s nothing to tell.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing?” Akira asked with growing dread.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Akira…” Goro said carefully. “I don’t mind talking about myself with you...but I have to wonder what your intentions are behind this line of questioning.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akira swallowed, debating what to do. Would there be any point in trying to explain what had happened to Goro? Sumire had snapped out of her own “actualization”, as Maruki had called it. Maybe Goro could do the same, if Akira just gave him the chance. After all, if anyone could break out of Maruki’s mind control through sheer anger and spite, it would be Goro. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Probably.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hoped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you remember anything about the Metaverse?” Akira asked. All he got in return was a blank, confused look. “Ah, that’s a ‘no’, then,” Akira said. “What about the Phantom Thieves?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Phantom Thieves…” Goro said. “Yes, I know them. I was investigating them for a bit and… you are the leader, correct?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am,” Akira said with a nod. Okay, he could work with this. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Right? Right. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“The Metaverse is the cognitive world. It’s a place we go to change hearts using our Personas.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Personas?” Goro repeated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, Personas are…” Akira trailed off, realizing suddenly that he had accepted a lot of crazy things that year and was ill-equipped to explain any of it to someone completely in the dark. Was the best use of his time really to sit with Goro and give him a run-down of the cognitive world and the abilities that they both had there? And to what end? Was he going to ease Goro into the conversation about how he led a double-life as a supernatural assassin? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who is ‘Maruki’?” Goro asked. “You didn’t answer me earlier.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah,” Akira said. “Well, Maruki…”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maruki stole you away with a bunch of tentacle things and brainwashed you. Maruki is my school counselor who ended up using me as his personal therapist, ironically enough. Maruki is set to become the new god of the world if we don’t stop him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maruki is the owner of a palace,” Akira said. “A sort of cognitive dungeon formed from desires. We were trying to traverse through there so we could change his heart, but he… he took you, Goro. And… you’re different now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Goro blinked back at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Different, how?” Goro asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akira wanted to melt into his chair and never, ever continue the conversation. The real Goro Akechi. He was hard to talk about, especially since Akira couldn’t exactly claim to be an expert on him. After all, he’d only caught that little glimpse of Goro at his angriest in Shido’s palace, and even though he was still being ruthless and downright </span>
  <em>
    <span>mean </span>
  </em>
  <span>before Maruki took him, Goro remained cryptic as ever, though in a different way than he had been before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akira tried to imagine what Goro must have looked like positioning a gun to his double’s forehead. Was he smirking? Dead-faced? Did he make a snarky quip before he ended it all, relishing his victory and ruining what would have been Akira’s final moments? That sounded like him. This Goro wouldn’t do any of those things to him, he was sure of it. From Akira’s assessment, he imagined this Goro wouldn’t even believe him if he claimed that he was “different” because he was notably less… murdery.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re missing memories,” Akira said vaguely. “I know that might sound hard to believe, but it’s true.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Goro went silent, processing. His nose scrunched up the slightest bit once again, and Akira sat and waited. He could see Goro thumbing through mental files, trusting his words and searching dutifully for something out of place. His eyes fell shut as he continued to think, and Akira found that he wasn’t sure if he was more afraid that Goro’s eyes would shoot open, every memory intact, or that he’d find nothing, and would just go back to smiling at Akira without a care in the world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t remember what I did today before coming here,” Goro admitted. His eyes opened again, clouded with conflict. “And… now that you mention it… I feel odd. I think back to some things and find myself missing information, even if everything seems to stitch together nicely. I’d imagine this feeling is not unlike phantom pains that manifest when someone loses a limb. Does that make any sense?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akira nodded mutely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like… when you asked about my father,” Goro continued. “I don’t know who he is. I never have. But… have I truly never searched? I have access to quite a lot of resources, and it’s not in my nature to simply not pursue the truth.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see,” Akira said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And… there’s the issue of you, Akira,” he said. “What exactly is the nature of our relationship? How did we first meet, anyway?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If only Akira could tell Goro what their relationship was. His guess was as good as Goro’s, and Goro wasn’t even himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We met at one of your interviews,” Akira said. “You found me afterward and gave me your number. We’ve hung out a few times. Competed in stupid games. Stuff like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, we’re friends,” Goro said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akira couldn’t help but notice that the conflicted look was back. He straightened up a little in his seat. Maybe this was what would make Goro remember. That look of hatred in his eye that night in Kichijoji when they’d dueled lingered in his mind even now. Goro’s hatred for him, the rivalry they shared… surely he remembered that, at least, didn’t he? Even if Maruki had erased Goro’s memories of the Metaverse, of Shido, maybe Goro’s true feelings about him had remained untouched if he looked this perturbed over the suggestion that they were friends. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that how you see me, Goro?” Akira asked. “As a friend?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Goro met his eyes again, teeth teasing his bottom lip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want me to be honest,” Goro said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please,” Akira said. If only. If only he was being honest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something tells me you already have an idea,” Goro said, bowing his head a little. Akira watched his hair slip with the motion, framing his face under golden brown locks. “But… very well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Say it. Say it, Goro. Tell me just how much you hate—</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have feelings for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akira jolted in his seat, his whole body feeling drained of life and hope like he was encapsulated in curse magic. Goro met his eyes and held their gaze, never relenting despite the vulnerability they exuded. The longer Akira took to say anything, the more he noticed Goro beginning to crack at the seams. His lip trembled slightly, and his hands began to latch onto the edge of the table in a death grip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you don’t,” Akira finally croaked out. Where was that even coming from? Was it a sick joke? Some sort of manipulation tactic forged by Maruki? Or was this Goro just believing his own lies he’d told Akira once upon a time about how interesting and special he was?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I assure you, I do,” Goro said. “And I suppose from your reaction that you don’t return my affections.” Goro shook his head sadly, his eyes crinkling a bit at the corners. “That’s okay. You asked for me to be honest, though, and now you know the truth.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, that’s…” Akira cringed and started over. “That’s not the truth. It’s not just missing memories, Goro. You’re acting </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong. </span>
  </em>
  <span>That’s not how you feel about me. You’ve told me as much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do believe what you’re saying about altered memories,” Goro said. “But how I feel about you feels real. It’s too visceral and too complex. It’s overwhelming and it hurts in a way that I don’t quite recall the meaning behind. I just don’t think someone could have made that up, Akira. I know I don’t have any concrete evidence for you, and only my own testimony, but this love that I have… it feels like an intrinsic part of me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You aren’t yourself,” Akira said weakly. It didn’t matter if this fake Goro felt like his fabricated affections were an essential pillar of his identity. Because this wasn’t Goro Akechi, and Akira was sure of that now. Maybe it was his body, maybe it was his face, but it wasn’t him. Just a dressed-up doll with an unchanging smile. An unrealistic fantasy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then who am I?” Goro asked quietly, “if I’m not Goro Akechi, who I know myself to be?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” Akira admitted. “But if you don’t remember…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s a theory of identity in philosophy that is referred to as ‘psychological continuity’,” Goro said, interrupting. “That seems to be the theory of identity you favor, Akira. It suggests that someone’s identity is completely defined by a chain of memory. I have memories from when I was five, thus, I am the same being today as I was thirteen years ago, even if I look quite different and every cell in my body since then has been replaced almost twice over. And, to take it a step further, since I am missing some of my memories, that continuity is broken, and I am no longer myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not just what’s missing,” Akira said. “He’s rewritten you. You’re fake.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Memory is a fickle thing, you’ll find,” Goro said. “That becomes extraordinarily apparent when you have to look over as many witness testimonies as I do. If someone has a false memory about an event, does that mean that they are not the person they were at the time the event occurred?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is </span>
  <em>
    <span>different</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Akira insisted, getting heated against his will. “This is serious, and I just want to figure out how to help you! Don’t you </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> that? Why are you wasting time with goddamn philosophy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the first time in the conversation, Goro’s face dropped, and he looked genuinely hurt. It was so foreign Akira was at a complete loss of what to do. Goro simply didn’t show emotions like his. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My… apologies,” Goro said. “I didn’t mean to come off like I don’t care about this. I just really enjoy discussing things through the lens of philosophy. The subject has always interested me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t know that,” Akira admitted. “I mean, you’ve quoted philosophy at me before, but I thought that was because you like to sound pretentious.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>like </span>
  </em>
  <span>to sound pretentious,” Goro said. Then he added, in an embarrassed mumble. “I just come off that way sometimes…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Real Goro didn’t come off terribly pretentious, and he was a lot less well-spoken. Some of the language he used while decimating shadows would make Ryuji blush, and unlike the chatterbox Detective Prince, he was short with his words. But there had been that time at the jazz club. Akira had asked him to meet him there, maybe out of nostalgia, maybe just because he wanted someone to sit with, and inviting anyone else would feel like a bit of a betrayal. Goro had waxed poetic about the concept of happiness, and how it could be a selfish thing. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s easy to say that everyone deserves happiness,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Goro had said. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“But what if one person’s happiness hinges on someone else’s unhappiness?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> It was the only conversation they had since reality broke that wasn’t about business, and Akira had found himself turning over the question Goro had posed in his head as he tried to sleep that night. The real Goro liked philosophical discussions too. Akira held onto that knowledge with a death grip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why philosophy, though?” Akira asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something compels me about unsolvable mysteries,” Goro said. “That’s not just a consequence of my profession, mind you. I’ve always been like that. And maybe philosophical debate is nothing more than an exercise in trying to assign meaning where there is none, but if there is no meaning, no answers, nothing that keeps our little blue planet spinning, at least I can rest easy knowing that I am just as inconsequential as everyone else in the grand scheme of things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s a lonely way to think,” Akira said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s better than being unwanted in a world that matters,” Goro said. He gently brought his gloved hands into fists that rested on the very edge of the table. “That’s all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You do matter,” Akira said firmly. He instinctively reached for one of Goro’s hands and intertwined their fingers, squeezing it with urgency. Akira waited for a reaction –– for Goro’s hand to tremble, for him to recoil, for him to slap him away. But Goro’s hand was limp in his. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s kind of you to say,” Goro said. But that was all he said on the matter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was strange, Akira supposed. If Maruki changed Goro to better fit in his perfect reality, then shouldn’t this polite, albeit lobotomized Goro be… happier? Was he happier? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akira supposed it didn’t really matter. Even if he was happy, it was fake happiness, which Goro had asserted was worth nothing at all. Akira couldn’t waver. Goro would never forgive him for letting a few friendly smiles and one conversation about identity and authenticity steer him away from his goal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be frank with you,” Akira said. “I want to get your stolen memories back. I’ll have to consult everyone else about it, but I think taking you into the palace with us might be the best thing we can do. I promise you, Goro, I’m going to figure out how to fix this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe Akira would get extremely lucky for once, and Goro would remember everything after seeing a shadow and being overtaken by his own uncontrollable bloodlust. It didn’t seem likely, but Akira could dream. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I still don’t really know what you mean by ‘palace’,” Goro admitted. “Everything you’ve told me about this ‘cognitive world’ has been vague at best. It sounds like a fairy tale, or some spin-off Featherman film.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I probably sound a little crazy, huh?” Akira said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I doubt you’d take any pleasure in lying to me,” Goro said with conviction. “And if you’ve promised to help me, I believe you will keep that promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s right,” Akira said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Still, a lie by omission is a betrayal all its own. What is it I’ve forgotten, Akira?” Goro asked. His voice was all business but still possessed tooth-rotting sweetness. “Your distress indicates it’s something quite important, and yet… you haven’t given me any hint of what it is I lack. All I’ve determined from your questioning is that whatever was taken from me, it was integral enough to who I am that you deem me a fake without it. And, judging by your questions and reactions, it has something to do with my father. Am I correct?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akira had no idea how he managed to forget that Goro was a wickedly smart honor student who </span>
  <em>
    <span>noticed </span>
  </em>
  <span>things. Maybe that was the purpose of Goro’s sweet facade. It made it easy to underestimate him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You won’t need me to tell you,” Akira said. “You can remember for yourself tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah,” Goro said. “Right.” He shifted a little, directing his gaze out the window at the darkness outside the cafe. Even as an air of melancholy overtook him, Goro looked calm and perfectly manicured. He was easy to talk to like this, Akira realized, and he really did look so alluring sitting like that. This Goro was somehow so much more than the real Goro’s plastic-like act had been. Did that make this, against all odds, one of the only real conversations the two had ever shared?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Nope, nope, nope, absolutely not, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Akira thought. That was what Maruki wanted him to think. He had to keep Sumire in mind. It didn’t matter if being Kasumi had made her happy, it wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>true</span>
  </em>
  <span> and it wasn’t what was best for her, in the long run. Pain, Akira supposed, was a terrible but inevitable aspect of reality, but it was also part of who they all were, wasn’t it? That theory Goro had mentioned about people being the sum of their experiences rang true in that regard, but it could also be turned on its head. If Sumire had been manipulated to have Kasumi’s memories, didn’t that make her truly Kasumi by that logic? So, could this be truly Goro, if he simply looked at things a different way?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Goro would never accept this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That, Akira was sure of. He had said as much before Maruki had taken him away, and Akira knew he was dead serious. The discussion of identity didn’t matter, it </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t, </span>
  </em>
  <span>because what mattered was what Goro wanted. And Goro would never wish for this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry I kept you,” Akira said eventually. “You should go so you can catch the last train and get home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Goro nodded. He took his time standing up from the booth, gathering his things, and looking around the coffee shop. He looked like he was about to say something, looked over at Akira for a split second, then supposedly thought better of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goodnight, then,” he said. “I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Goro left without much ceremony, but his ghost lingered on in the atmosphere for several minutes afterward, to the point where Akira didn’t dare stand up for a while, staring across from him at the empty booth seat. When he eventually wedged himself off the seat, he made coffee. It didn’t matter if he had some so late –– he knew that he wouldn’t be able to sleep anytime soon, as he’d probably doomed himself to a night of lying awake in bed, thinking too hard. But it was Goro’s fault for saying that he, Goro Akechi, had romantic feelings for Akira. It was unthinkable. Laughable, even. Murderers simply don’t love their victims.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And victims definitely don’t love their murderers,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Akira reminded himself, </span>
  <em>
    <span>no matter how real their smiles may appear.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thanks for the great response on the first chapter! please let me know what you think of the fic so far, if you feel so inclined. i have some really great stuff planned, and I'm really looking forward to showing you guys how it all shakes out. </p><p>please comment! love yall</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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